Scarlett
by HedgieX
Summary: So what if Martha hadn't lost the baby that terrible afternoon? What if she'd somehow managed to juggle a successful career at the bar with the development of her beautiful baby girl? This is Scarlett Costello's journey, a chapter for every year of her life, dedicated to Sophie. 'It's fine,' Clive whispered, 'You're going to be fine.'
1. Birth

_**For Sophie**_

**Birth:**

Clive exhaled. "Is it a he or a she?"

"It's a baby girl."

"Is it healthy? I mean–"

Martha could hear Clive interrogating the doctor, asking all kinds of pointless questions to break the silence in the cubicle, but she wasn't taking it in. She was holding her daughter close to her chest, stroking her tiny frail hands, thanking God – if there was a god, and she'd never been more certain that there was – that He'd brought this blood-drenched lump of wrinkles into her life.

"Miss Costello," one of the nurses prised the baby from her arms, "We need to take her for a few minutes now. Just to check everything's okay."

"It is... she is..."

"We'll take good care of her."

She watched them take her baby away, and she wondered if this was what it felt like sitting in court watching your child on trial, knowing it could go either way, knowing they could be locked up or walk free all depending on Martha's performance as their defence barrister.

That was what the doctors were to her now, the barristers: that tiny scrap of life was in their hands, quite literally. She didn't really like the feeling of total hopelessness that enveloped her as the door swung shut. If Billy was here, he'd probably say 'it's a taste of your own medicine, Miss.'

Or maybe he'd call her Martha. Just for once. Just to show that he cared about her, that she was his family, that she meant the world to him.

"It's fine. You're going to be fine."

"You said that last time."

Clive smiled, "And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Mm. Lucky guess."

They'd thought she was going to lose the baby. Billy had left a voicemail, presumably when Clive had first called to tell them she'd been rushed to hospital, saying how much everyone at Chambers loved her, and how they'd be there to support her, whatever happened. He'd called her 'Martha' then. She'd distinctly heard Nick sniffing in the background, and she hadn't felt so alone.

"Marth," he reached out and took her hand, "I'm going to be here for you, okay, through everything. You and the baby. I will provide for my child. You don't need to worry about anything – I'll be here."

"Yeah," she smiled, "Right."

"What are you going to call her?"

"Cleopatra."

"Oh yeah, you sh–" his eyes darted from her to the corridor, and she strained to see what was happening, so he held up a restraining hand, "You need to rest."

"It's only childbirth, Clive. Not a heart operation."

"You weren't saying that five minutes ago, when you were screaming the whole bloody ward down, were you?"

She shook her head, flipped back the bed covers. He tried to lay her down again, but she brushed his hand away and climbed out of the bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, a bit like her body felt, without the child against her breast.

"Martha, you shouldn't–"

"I'm a barrister, Clive. Since when have I ever done what I _should_?"

"Never, really."

He wasn't just referring to her career when he said that, she supposed, with those big warm eyes that hid so many things, good and bad. He was talking about the way she'd defied her parents, her teachers, her peers, climbed away from her rough childhood and really made something of herself. She'd had to sacrifice some things to get where she was, but blimey, she wouldn't have changed it.

"Come here," she mumbled.

He was behind her in an instant. He wrapped an arm around her, not in a romantic way – she wouldn't be messed around like that, not at the moment – but in a friendly, supportive way. She believed he'd be there for her, truly he did; he wasn't a bad guy, wasn't Clive. Foolish sometimes, but not a bad guy.

"Really, what will you call her?"

She leant against the window ledge, watched the sun set over the helicopter pad, casting a beautiful red glow over the world, "Scarlett."

He exhaled again. "Scarlett Costello."

"Sounds funny, sharing my name."

"Sounds kind of beautiful too."

"Aw, Clive," she saw herself smile in the reflection of the glass. She hadn't smiled properly for a long time. She used lipstick as a sort of shield to hide behind, hide from the nasty people in the world, but she didn't need lipstick here. "Not getting sentimental, are you?"

He squeezed her shoulder, "Think you've got a visitor."

"Hello, Miss."

"Hello, Billy."

"I left the cavalry in the waiting room, Miss. I brought you this; it's just a little something from Chambers. Nick and Niamh chose it."

"Oh, that's lovely. Thank you."

She was in his arms before he could speak again. His fingers were cool around her, soothing everything, keeping her safe. Billy was like a father to her. He gave up a lot for them all, more than they'd ever realise, and she loved him.

"That's okay," he kissed her head, an action unknown for Billy, and so brief he could've denied it later. It made her heart leap, "Congratulations, Martha."

"Billy. I want to ask you a question."

"Sounds deep. Can we sit you back down first? You look a bit peaky," he said. They both laughed at the absurdity of that; Clive took her arm and led her back to the bed. Billy sat on one side, Clive on the other, one of her hands pressed into each of theirs.

"I've called her Scarlett."

"That's a nice name. Although Cleopatra would've been nicer."

"Jesus," Clive said under his breath, "You two are psychopaths."

"Ignore him. Billy, will you do me the honour of being Scarlett's godfather?"

"Oh, Miss. I don't know about that."

"She's going to need someone to keep her on the straight and narrow, isn't she? You've done a good enough job with me over the years," she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder, "Please. It would mean a lot to me."

"I can't refuse you. You know I can't."

The door opened, "Miss Costello?"

"Is she–"

"She's absolutely fine," the nurse said, giving her a smile as he stepped forward and showed her the bundle in his arms, wrapped in a pink blanket. The most beautiful thing in the world. "Does she have a name yet?"

"Cleopatra," Clive and Billy said together.

"She's called Scarlett."

"Here you go," he laid her in his arms, "Meet your mummy, Scarlett."

A single tear dribbled down Martha's cheek and fell down onto her newborn daughter's face, "Hello, baby."

XxXxX

**If anyone reading this is considering writing a Silk fanfiction, please do. I'd love to read it! When I first began to write fanfiction, I remember there were only a couple of stories in the Scott&Bailey archive; now there are over one hundred, and it's been lovely to watch the fandom grow and read so many amazing stories. Which sounds a bit cheesy, but hey.**

**Reviews – and ideas for future chapters – would be appreciated!x**


	2. One

**I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. Thank you for all of your lovely reviews for the first chapter! x**

**One:**

"Nappies, nappies, nappies," Martha mumbled, bending over the kitchen table to scribble them down on her shopping list.

She knocked her beer bottle with her arm as she moved, and the frothy liquid splashed across her brief. The words had smudged and become unrecognisable before she could mop it up; all of the information she needed for the court case beginning tomorrow morning was gone, just like that.

"Bugger."

Scarlett whined.

"No, Scarlie. That's a bad word. Sorry. I didn't mean to say it," she wiped the table wearily, "Please, just give me a few more minutes."

Her daughter clawed at the tray of her high chair, wanting attention.

"Look, it's important. It's..." she trailed off, wondering why she was bothering trying to explain herself to someone who definitely couldn't understand her. She supposed she answered her own question, though: most of her work involved trying to explain things to people who didn't have a clue. "Okay. Come here."

She lifted her baby out of its chair and held her tight. She'd picked Scarlett up hundreds of times, thousands of times, and yet it never got any less special – there wasn't a moment when Martha didn't treasure her daughter's life, didn't look up at the stars and feel grateful. But God, babies were irritating.

"It's my first day back at work tomorrow, you know? It's a big day for me. I've got to prove them all wrong, prove you can have a family and a successful career," she took another beer from the fridge and clipped the lid off on the opener. This had become even more useful since she'd had a child. "There are some bad people out there. But there are some very good people too."

Her mobile phone vibrated in her pocket. _Billy._ She smiled. He was, perhaps, a bit good and a bit bad. Definitely more good. Hey, everyone was a bit bad sometimes.

"Hello, Billy."

"Hello, Miss."

He'd called her Miss through her entire maternity leave. Maybe it was a force of habit, maybe it was affection. She put down her new beer and sank onto the sofa, flicking the television to mute. The news presenters' mouths moved silently.

"We were just talking about you, me and Scarlett."

She heard him laugh, "All good, I imagine."

"You know me too well, Billy."

"It's my job to know you, Miss. I just thought I'd ring and check whether you were okay about tomorrow."

She wanted nothing more than to break down in tears and beg him to come round with a new copy of the brief. For him to hug her, like her own father never had, and tell her everything would be alright. For him to drink with her, and dance with her. And she knew he would do all of that, at the drop of a hat, if she asked, because that was not only his job but his duty.

"It's a bit hectic, but yeah, I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it. Scarlett doing alright?"

"Yeah. She recognises your voice, you know. Her eyes always look a bit bluer when you're around."

"Glad to hear it, Miss."

"I should probably go. I want to get her to bed, and I've still got all of these files to read, so–"

"Of course. See you tomorrow, Miss." There was a long silence, as though he was taking a sizeable gulp of alcohol. "It's going to be a good day."

"Bye, Billy."

XxXxX

"Welcome back, Marth," Clive hugged her briefly.

She pulled away and arranged her wig more neatly over her hair. Jesus, she was shaking. She hadn't even been this nervous at her Silk interview; in truth, she rarely got nervous. When you'd coped with what she had at an early stage of your life, other things seemed simple, but evidently not this.

"You alright?"

"Yep," she managed a heavily-lipsticked smile. It felt funny, having make-up on after a year of slobbing around in vest tops and slippers. It felt funny having to face the world without Scarlett for company and assurance. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Was Scarlett okay this morning?"

"She's one year old, Clive. She doesn't know the difference between people, she doesn't care if she's in my arms or some stranger's – and a reputable stranger, at that – as long as there's someone to feed her and tickle her."

"I think you're wrong there," he said, "I think she knows her mum."

Martha smiled inwardly. She thought she did, too. "Whatever you say. Well, we'd better get in there then, hadn't we?"

"You've read the brief well?"

_What remained of it after the beer incident, yes. _"I haven't changed. I've had a kid, but that doesn't mean I can't do my job any more. I'll have enough with those lot suggesting I'm less competent, without you as well."

She could feel everyone's eyes on her as she stepped into the courtroom, Clive at her side. She had no doubt that there'd been gossip about them, but hey, nothing she couldn't handle. She'd never fit in properly, and as she'd said before, that was a major asset in her book – she was here to do a job, not to socialise, not to look good. Although she had to do that too.

"All rise."

She bowed her head to the judge, who cast a small smile in her direction. The jury were fiddling with sheets of paper, straightening tops and fastening shoes. Clive was leaning back to flirt with an attractive young barrister sitting behind him

God, she was younger than Niamh had been; she couldn't have been twenty. Some things never changed, and that sort of comforted Martha.

Law was just a game, really. Cops and robbers, chasing the baddies, defending people who didn't deserve to be locked away. There were different sides, but in the end they all fought for what was right.

And then they went home to their boyfriends or children or mothers, and ate spaghetti bolognaise and had a little bit of a drink. Before, she'd had her career to keep her alive, and now she had Scarlett too. Two families.

It was all just acting in the end, their job, and Martha wouldn't have had it any other way. As Shakespeare had said: 'all the world's a stage'.

XxXxX


	3. Two

**Thank you for all of your reviews! I know that most of you have been lovely, but can I just ask that everyone keeps their criticism constructive please? Being forward with someone isn't the same thing as making them feel bad about their writing x**

**Two:**

Martha lay in bed beneath the throw Clive had bought her for her birthday last year, and stared up at the ceiling. Part of her view was obstructed by it, a dark red blanket with ornate silver flowers stitched into it.

"A_ throw_?" she'd said, when she'd first unwrapped it. She realised now that she probably hadn't sounded particularly grateful, but he'd just smiled and offered her the tin of roses from Billy's desk.

She'd taken a pink one, because the goo inside of the chocolate tasted like strawberry Calpol, something she'd grown a little addicted to since she'd started licking Scarlett's medicine spoon. Well, you had to get some advantages out of having a child, didn't you? Martha got more than she'd ever dreamt of.

She couldn't sleep without it now. The throw, not the child. She'd realised that Scarlett couldn't sleep in her room forever, and now her little girl had her own bedroom next door to Martha's, with yellow butterflies on the walls and a little chime above the bed that danced gently when there was a breeze.

The amount of times Martha had walked between the rooms during the course of the past year defied belief. It was hard, when there was only one of you. She couldn't say "it's your turn", although she wasn't sure she would've been able to roll over and go back to sleep anyway, when her daughter was crying. She left her slippers at the side of her bed now; the corridor was always cold at night.

Scarlett didn't seem to mind having her own room, really, but it was difficult for Martha. In a way, the deep red of the throw – scarlet – meant she could almost hold her daughter to her chest all night long.

She'd come so close to losing her.

Her phone lay on her bedside table. She could feel the vibrations, but she kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She didn't want to know quite yet. Billy and Clive could worry for a little bit longer.

The baby monitor crackled. Martha could hear her daughter gurgle, then shuffle in her bed and sit up; she knew all of these sounds now. Her cries began softly, and got gradually louder, pleading for her mother's attention. Well, Billy and Clive could wait, but Scarlett couldn't.

Scarlett's cheeks were damp. Martha pulled her to her, and rocked her backwards and forwards, very gently. She'd grown so much.

Martha didn't always give her child what she wanted straight away. She knew what that would do; produce a selfish girl who didn't care for anything but herself, who thought that crying could solve everything. That wouldn't set her up for the world.

Sometimes, when she cried in the night, she would leave it a few minutes before going to see her. Sometimes she would stand in the doorway and tell Scarlett it wasn't morning yet, that she needed to go back to sleep. If she was having a tantrum, Martha would let her; hey, they shared the same blood, of course they were both going to be stubborn and stroppy.

Martha had a lot of capacity for loving someone, but that was normally hidden. When you had a child, you didn't have to pretend to be someone else, and she really loved that.

"Mummy."

"You know, it's the middle of the night, Scarlie. We should be sleeping at the moment, shouldn't we? Don't cry, it's okay."

"Bed," Scarlett said, straining back a little bit in her mum's arms and making her intentions perfectly clear even in the dark.

This was something Scarlett did often. Of course she did; she was alone in the night, she wanted to be with somebody. Martha felt the same, sometimes wanted to take Clive's hand and bring him home and go to bed with him, not because of love, but because she wanted someone there.

Normally, Martha would have said no, and she would have put Scarlett back to bed, maybe read to her a little bit, or sung her a song, or looked out of the window at the stillness of the night. She wouldn't have done what her daughter asked, not because she didn't want to, but because she knew it wasn't what was best for Scarlett.

Today, she couldn't be bothered with that. She was too tired to stand around thinking about what was best. It was four o'clock in the morning, and she would invariably be getting up in a couple of hours anyway, because she always did.

And they'd have their breakfast and get dressed and go to the park; maybe she'd call Clive or Billy, if they were off work too, and see if they wanted to come. Why shouldn't she give Scarlett what she wanted, just for once?

"Come on, then," she said, putting her over her shoulder and taking her back into her own bedroom.

Scarlett fell asleep on her mum's chest almost immediately. Martha knew she wouldn't sleep again until tomorrow. Only now did she allow herself to take up her phone and to check who'd been trying to contact her.

Two texts from Billy: _It was a tough day today for all of us, don't blame yourself_, followed by _If you need anything, I'm here_ a couple of hours later, when she hadn't replied. Poor Billy. He'd still be in the office now, trying to tidy up their mess, wondering how best he could look after them. He was a father to Martha as much as Clive was to Scarlett, really.

There was a missed call from Clive, and another text from O2, offering her 20% of some sort of bracelet. How kind of them. Did they think bracelets mattered today, in the scheme of things?

"I made a mistake today, Scarlie," Martha whispered into the throw, into her daughter's hair, into the darkness, "I ruined a man's life."

How easy were those words to say, when someone wasn't listening? How difficult was it to walk into those chambers again and brush aside what you'd done and get on with your life?

Innocent until proven guilty. What if they were proven guilty when they were innocent, because their counsel were crap? She didn't suppose this case mattered any more than others she'd mucked up over her career, but it felt like it mattered, today. It felt like, when that man had gone down for the first day of his sentence, he'd taken a little bit of her heart with him, and now there was a hole.

_ I'm taking Scarlett to the park this morning_, she typed to Billy, _I'll be under the trees at half past nine._

She laid back and looked at the ceiling. Her cheeks were damp as Scarlett's had been a few moments ago. There was nobody here to wipe her tears away yet, but Billy would be there in a few hours, and in years to come perhaps Scarlett too.

_Okay miss_, came the reply, _I'll see you then._

XxXxX


	4. Three

**I don't really have a lot of experience on the development of children, to be entirely honest, so I'm sorry if there are any glaring mistakes in this story;) I hope you enjoy the chapter, anyway! x**

**Three:**

"Mummy's coming soon," Billy told his goddaughter.

She was sitting on his knee in the corner of a café, shuffling impatiently as Billy drank his coffee. He offered her a piece of his shortbread, but she shook her head and stared out of the window.

She was a beautiful little girl. At three years old, her hair fell down her back like one of those slides she so liked to play on. Obviously, he was a bit biased, but he felt that her aquamarine eyes were filled with warmth and intelligence, just like her mother's.

Scarlett was very like Martha, in some ways. Sometimes she had that mischievous glint in her eye, the look that said 'I know I shouldn't really be doing this, but I'll do it anyway'. She knew right from wrong; she knew how to hover on the edge of right without straying into wrong.

She was also quite unlike her mother. There were moments when she was shy, and she didn't particularly like new people, although she was perfectly happy with Billy. She liked her own company almost as much as she liked Martha's.

"When?"

"Soon."

"She's just finishing something at work," he said, when she tugged at his sleeve. It was snowing outside, and they both faced the window, her head on his shoulder; he wondered if she was about to fall asleep. He wouldn't blame her.

Billy had picked Scarlett up from the nursery on the way home from chambers, with Martha promising she'd only be half an hour. They'd agreed to meet in the café on the high street and have coffee.

Billy had taken his goddaughter to a little boutique on the way across, and they'd picked out a beautiful china plate painted with flowers, and put it in a gift bag. Billy had helped Scarlett to write _Merry Christmas Mummy _on the tag, and she'd drawn a rather dubious stick figure underneath too.

He thought she'd like it. She liked things of beauty, things that held love and effort and memories of the past. Martha was one of those people who appeared to move with the times, even ahead of them, and yet sometimes you got the impression that she wanted to stay exactly where she was in the world, just for a day.

"Are you tired?"

She shook her head.

They'd been sitting here for almost half an hour, and that was a long time for Billy to wait, let alone Scarlett. He worried that it would affect Scarlett, when she was older, that she'd feel as though she was less important than her mum's work. It wasn't true at all – he felt privileged to know a little about Martha, generally such a private person, and he knew she adored her daughter – but sometimes it was difficult for everyone involved, Martha and Billy and even Clive, trying to balance the different aspects of their lives around Scarlett.

"Should we play I spy?"

She nodded.

"I spy, with my little eye," he shifted his arm behind her back so that they were both sitting more comfortably, "Something beginning with... S."

He pronounced 'S' in lower-case, like 'sss'. She was a clever girl, already beginning to recognise the alphabet, beginning to speak more complex sentences and even write a couple of wobbly letters.

She looked around her, "Snow."

"Well done," he said, kissing her cheek with cold lips so that she squealed, although it had been 'shortbread', originally, "You're too good at this game, Scarlett. You always win."

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with–" she looked from the tablecloth to the counter and back to the window, "Mummy!"

The woman stamped her feet outside to avoid treading excess snow into the café, then stepped inside and rubbed her hands together, "It's freezing."

"Mummy," Scarlett said, taking one of Martha's hands and leading her back to the table.

"Miss," he said, "You took a while."

"It's Martha, Billy. You can call me Miss at work, but it's Martha here."

Martha slipped off her coat and took her daughter onto her knee, kissing her, smoothing her hair. _How much did she love that child? _It hurt him to think of how different it could have been, if Scarlett hadn't survived.

"Do you want a coffee?"

"I'm fine. How was your day, Scarlie? How's Callum?"

"We played in the sandpit," she said, like she'd climbed Mount Everest and got back just in time for a paddle in the sea before her tea and scones.

"Did you make lots of sandcastles?"

"We did a snake."

"That's good," Martha said, with such enthusiasm that Billy wondered if he should have bought her a pet snake instead of the plate. Probably would've been cheaper. "Very good. You'll have to make a dog tomorrow."

"Callum says we should make a cat. And I can go to his house."

Billy watched them, mother and daughter, as they talked about all the trivial things that made Scarlett so very happy, the chocolate cake she'd had for her pudding and the play dough she'd used in the afternoon.

Martha was shivering. He pushed his coffee cup across the table, and she put her hands around it with a grateful smile, but didn't say anything to him.

"Martha?"

She looked up, probably because he'd called her Martha. "Billy."

"Is everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

He shook his head. _Why wouldn't it be? Because I've known you for far too long, Martha Costello, and I can see something's happened since I left you, and I can also see that you won't tell me, not now, no matter what I say._

He wished that he could follow her everywhere, just to make sure that she didn't get hurt. They all laughed about him being their daddy, some of them rather disparagingly, but he meant all of it: they were his family, particularly Martha and Scarlett. They were the family he'd never had.

"We got you a present."

"For tomorrow," Billy said quickly, but Scarlett was already fishing for the bag from the floor and passing it to her mother.

"When I was little, I always used to open one present on Christmas Eve. When we get home, you can choose one from under the tree to open. It makes it more special to spread it out," Martha said, helping her daughter to take the present from the bag.

Scarlett clawed at the wrapping paper like she was desperate to know what was inside, like she'd forgotten she'd wrapped it up with Billy in the Marks and Spencer disabled toilets half an hour ago. The spirit of Christmas, so easily lost once you left childhood behind. He envied her for a moment.

He looked out of the window, because it felt a bit intimate, mother and daughter opening Christmas presents. It almost embarrassed him; he shouldn't be here, he should leave. Martha had invited him for Christmas dinner tomorrow, even said he could stay overnight, but he'd declined.

Was that why she was upset? Not only tired from working Christmas Eve, but because she was going to have to spend Christmas alone tomorrow? He hadn't thought about that when he'd said no, selfish bastard that he was.

"Marth–" he said, but the last syllable was drowned out by the dropping of china onto the hard tiles below the table, the bittersweet jingle of something precious being torn apart into shards.

"_Scarlett_," Martha snapped.

The power of one angry word from her mother brought tears to Scarlett's eyes. Perhaps because she didn't want to be shouted at, or because she understood that she'd ruined something that was supposed to be special, or because she too saw that her mother was holding something back.

"Sorry. It was my fault; I was being clumsy. Silly mummy."

"Silly mummy," Scarlett agreed quietly, looking relieved.

"I'm sure we can glue it back together," Martha said, wincing.

Billy crouched down on his hands and knees and gathered the shattered pieces back into the tissue paper, "I'll see what I can do."

Martha took a long sip of coffee. Billy sat back at the table and looked out of the window at the snow falling like icing sugar, and thought how nice it would be to have someone to be with tomorrow, to laugh with and to dance with, rather than facing another year of watching crap on TV with a takeaway. Christmas was supposed to be a special time, a family time, and they were his family now.

"Marth, you know what you said, about tomorrow?"

She reached across and touched his hand with cold fingers. He laid his other hand on top of hers, and his gaze was the colour of a jay's wing as it met his.

"Would you?" she asked.

"I'd love to."

Scarlett reached across and put her hand on top of Billy's. "Pat a cake."

Martha's laugh was as beautiful as Billy always remembered it.

XxXxX


	5. Four

**Thank you for your lovely reviews. Particular thanks to Ami – incidentally, I had no idea Billy had a wife and children, he does seem entirely aloof and I'd always imagined him as being alone outside of work; this chapter again follows the 'no family' line – and of course Sophie who's been there through everything.**

**I know some of the chapters seem quite short, and I would like to expand each of the scenes, but the whole idea of this story was to show snapshots of Scarlett's life, and to kind of leave what happened in between hanging, so I'm actually quite pleased if anyone reading this is left wanting to know more.**

**Anyway, I digress. This is the last of the chapters I'd already written up before I posted the story, so from now on I'll try and take any advice into account. This chapter might be quite hard-hitting, it was definitely difficult to write, apologies in advance. Please excuse anyone OOC-ness, and any inconsistency with real-life medical procedure.**

**Four:**

Martha had known, from the moment that Billy had asked her to hold his hand (those words still rung in her ears four years on, the way he'd said _Martha_), that something was wrong.

It had taken her three weeks to get it out of him. Three weeks of seeing him every single day. He'd raise a hand and shout "Morning, Miss" across the clerks' room, as cheery as ever, like he was performing a play for her, determined not to crumble.

After three weeks, he'd asked her to walk with him at lunch time, and they'd ended up sitting on a bench alongside the Thames, gazing silently out, and she'd known then that whatever it was he was about to say would change everything.

"I didn't say before, Miss," he'd said, eventually, "Because I didn't want to hurt you. But then I realised that not telling you would hurt more. And I need to tell you, I can't be the only one any more, I–"

"Billy," she'd whispered, "What is it?"

And as he'd told her he'd cried into her coat, and she hadn't washed it, the coat, for a good long time afterwards, just because it felt like she needed to have him close to her, and his dried tears on her shoulder meant she didn't have to let go quite yet.

She'd supported him from the start. She'd gone with him to the hospital when he'd had the implant, and he'd stayed for the week after whilst he sorted himself out, physically and mentally. They'd watched old, faded episodes of _The Bill_ and eaten sweet and sour chicken out of the cartons.

Scarlett, a tiny baby at the time, had laid in her cot in the next room, and when Martha had gone in to kiss her goodnight, Billy had gone too, and he'd pressed his thumb into her tiny fingers, and something in her subconscious had made those fingers curl around his, and Martha thought that had given him more strength than she ever could with all her words of reassurance.

Gradually, it had faded from the forefront of their minds. Martha had never forgotten about it, never forgotten the risk ("He said it might be seven years or it might–" Billy had broken off, sobbing, the only time she'd ever seen him cry except when he'd come to the hospital after Scarlett had been born, "It might be a year."), and she suspected that Billy hadn't either, but they got on with their lives.

The more time that had passed since he'd told her, and the more that they didn't mention it, the harder it was to casually drop into conversation. It was like a taboo, something they didn't talk about. Nobody else at Shoe Lane knew, so of course it couldn't be mentioned at work, and if she tried to bring it up at other times, he'd change the subject quickly. She didn't think he was in denial, exactly; he just wanted to live his life as normally as possible. If she'd been in his position, she'd have felt the same.

Suddenly, though, it wasn't something terrible that might possibly happen in the distant future. It was real and it was now, and very soon it would be over.

That was what had first got to Martha, when Billy had told her. "When it happens, it'll be over quickly," he'd said, stumbling over the words, alienated from the confident man she'd always known before.

Maybe that was supposed to be a good thing; you heard doctors say 'oh, they didn't suffer'. But the idea of him being there one day and not the next had really frightened her, and it still did; now she was facing exactly that. Taking Scarlett to the park with him, pushing her on the swings, having ice creams, and then what? He was just gone? How exactly did she explain that to his goddaughter?

"They didn't think–"

"What, Marth?" he said softly. The use of her first name, that intimacy, broke her heart that little bit more.

She'd been going to say 'they didn't think this would be an appropriate place for a child to visit', but the remainder of the sentence got lost inside her throat. Of course Billy knew it wasn't appropriate. It wasn't appropriate for _anyone_ to be in this place. Billy wouldn't be here at all soon.

"She's with the nurse outside."

"But I want to see her."

She shook her head, "You can't, Billy."

There were a couple of cards on the table. She picked one up, just for something to do, just so that she didn't have to look at his ashen face, his wet eyes. There was a teddy bear on the front, and inside it was signed by John and Jake and Bethany. She thought about the three of them sitting around that table in the clerks' room, wondering if their leader would ever come back.

"She's my–"

"She's your goddaughter. I know."

"And I can't say goodbye to her? It'll be over quickly," he said, echoing those words, "It'll be over soon."

"I know it will. I know."

Martha hadn't brought him a card. She hadn't done anything for the past couple of days, since he'd been put in the back of that ambulance.

It had been the middle of the night when the hospital had called, and the ringing of the phone had woken Scarlett. Martha had found her way down the stairs with her hands, too groggy to realise it would be easier with a light on, muttering something disparaging about solicitors.

"Martha Costello?" a woman had said.

"Yes. Who is it?"

"I'm from St. Luke's."

She'd put a light on, and found herself standing alone in the middle of her living room, surrounded by children's toys and red ribbons. She'd known then what was going to happen. "Billy?"

"Yes. Mr Lamb's been brought in, he's–"

She'd already been fumbling for the Yellow Pages, looking for the address of a taxi company. "Will I be able to– can I see him?"

"Of course."

"Did he ask you to phone me?"

"He's been given a sedative; he was quite distressed. He cried for you, in the ambulance."

And so she'd taken Scarlett around to her mother's (that was what mothers were for, really) and rushed to the hospital and sat with him all night, long into the morning, and then Clive had called her and gone mad about her missing a case at the Old Bailey.

She'd gone out into the hospital gardens and screamed at him down the phone, "Billy is _dying_. Do you think I give a _fuck_ about the Old Bailey?"

She'd gone back to work, because she couldn't just sit there. It would be like waiting for him to die, and they all were, really, but she couldn't admit that to herself. And then she'd rushed back to the hospital because he was all alone, and he needed to understand she was there for him until the end. She just wasn't ready for him to go.

_Jesus, Billy, I love you so much. Scarlett loves you. We all love you, everyone does. You don't deserve this. I would die in your place if I could._

"I'm so proud of you," Billy whispered, "Martha Costello, QC."

"The QC belongs to you, and you know it. I wouldn't have got it without you. I wouldn't have got anywhere without you," she said, reaching out and running a hand down the side of his face, "Twenty one years, we've worked together now. Haven't made a bad team, have we?"

Despite the chorus of the beeps coming from the machines he was attached to, the room seemed to overflow with silence.

"I'm sorry."

It had never been more difficult to smile in her life. "Don't be. Don't be sorry for anything, Billy."

"Please, let me see her. Just– just a minute."

She shook her head. He forced himself up onto one elbow, and then the other, and when she moved to lay him back down a tear splashed down from his cheek onto her hand, and she knew she couldn't deny him this, one last wish.

In prisons where they still had the Death Penalty (those two words sent shivers down her spine), convicted murderers got to choose their last meal. They ate their pizza or their past from a colourful tray, and then they were led out into a courtyard and hanged. In hospitals, entirely innocent people didn't even get that, but they got their families and their friends.

He pulled his wires out, and she helped him to sit up. He leant heavily against her, like she'd leant against Clive during the time they'd thought she was losing Scarlett.

"Don't cry," she said, "Please, don't cry."

"I'll try not to. Miss."

"_Billy_. That's not funny."

It was, to him, right now. She could see the way his eyes sparkled, the way the corners of his mouth twitched. "It's just habit."

Painstakingly slowly, she helped him into his slippers, and out of the door into the cool corridor. One of the nurses sat in a chair, jiggling Scarlett on her knee, and when she saw Billy she jumped up, but she didn't lecture him. Martha was grateful to her for that.

"Mummy," Scarlett held out her arms, and her voice shook in a similar way to Billy's. _Oh, darling, I wish I could protect you from this. _"Why's Billy crying? Why can't we all be healthy forever?"

The nurse helped Billy to sit down, and Martha sank down beside him and held him tightly. She'd never held him before, and she never would again. Scarlett nestled between them, and she leant up and smothered Billy's white cheek in kisses, and time didn't seem to matter any more.

"Come on, Billy," the nurse said.

He sagged against Martha. She couldn't say a word, because if she opened her mouth she knew her sobs would ring out along the corridor. _Stay strong, for his sake. You can fall apart soon._ She wiped his cheek where Scarlett had left a trail of warm dribble, and kissed it with her own soft lips.

"Marth," he whispered.

"I know," she said, "I know."

The nurse helped him up and half-carried him back to the room. He turned at the door, and it seemed to take all of the energy in the world for him to raise his hand and wave to Scarlett, the innocent little girl with the golden ringlets and the bright blue eyes who looked so like her mother that it broke him and made him whole, all at once.

"I'll just take her to mum's," Martha said, "And then I'll come back."

"I'll wait for you."

_Oh, God, Billy. Don't._

"Night, night, Billy," Scarlett shouted to him, blowing rubbery kisses and waving her hands about in front of her face to show they were being transported across to him.

Saying 'goodnight' suggested another day. Saying 'goodbye' suggested the end. He knew which it had to be, this time.

"Bye, bye, Scarlie."

XxXxX


End file.
